


Glitter and Gold

by Hyaluronic



Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: Angst, Bi-Disaster Booker, Blow Jobs, Booker's trying, Bookers unresolved survivors guilt, But for like two seconds, Drunken Kissing, Drunken Shenanigans, Hand Jobs, M/M, No beta we die like Andy never will, Oral Sex, and sometimes that's all that matters, like this turned out more angsty then I intended, mildly smutty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-09
Updated: 2021-03-09
Packaged: 2021-03-16 00:01:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,167
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29941410
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hyaluronic/pseuds/Hyaluronic
Summary: I am flesh and I am bone...Arise, ting ting, like glitterGlitter and gold.Booker wasn't sure what he expected after he watched his family walk away from him on the shores of the River Thames, leaving him to his thoughts and his penance; but he didn't expect to be pouring his heart out to Copley over copious amounts of Whiskey.And, he definitely didn't expect to have Copley's fingers tight in his hair while he ran his tongue ever so enticingly over the head of the man's cock.
Relationships: Booker | Sebastien le Livre/James Copley
Comments: 2
Kudos: 11





	Glitter and Gold

**Author's Note:**

> Oh, gosh, okay, so... I have never written anything remotely smutty in my some odd years of fic writing. I have read a few but never tried my hand at writing it on my own and let me tell you the amount of googling I had to do for the like 5 paragraphs of Booker blowing Copley... guys like blow jobs are apparently complicated and like you need a college degree just to give one! It's mind boggling, lol.
> 
> I am so nervous about posting this but I'm hoping it turned out well.
> 
> Please let me know if I need to add any tags,
> 
> Thanks! :)

He wasn’t sure how long he stood there. Unsure how long the cold briny air from the Thames washed over his heated skin, goose pimples rose in response to the damp wind sending a shiver down his spine. The shame and weight of the coming years a physical weight seemingly constricting his chest and catching his breath in his lungs, the burn from the need to breathe so strong that Booker gasped against the lump in his throat, eyes burning from the need to let all the pent up emotions go, let the feelings running rampant through him just bubble over and become something tangible, something real - out there for the world to finally see.

He blinked against the burn of tears, ignoring the heat of his emotions as his tears trailed down his cheeks. His mind wandered back to everything that had happened over the last week and cringed. He knew he was the catalyst for the events that had occurred but the actions seemed to be that of another man, someone desperate and distorted, a fun-house image of who he knew he could be- _should be_. A man whose devotion to a life long since buried clouded the love and comfort that had been around him and had set him on a course of self-destruction. If he had just been able to accept that he was deserving of such things such as love, life, family, then maybe... 

Booker sniffed and let his head fall back to stare at the grey tinted sky, the coming storm a rumble of sound in the distance, and a perfect ending to the shit day he had just been witness to. 

When had he become so jaded? So scared to live and honestly - _the faint flash of Andy’s blood staining his hands and the heady smell of copper assaulting his nose, his heart beating to the thrum of Andy’s bleeding wound_ \- scared so shitless to die? 

_100 years…_

He huffed a laugh and let his eyes flutter shut, breathing slowly and deeply through his nose. The coolness of the air helping to ease the ache deep in his chest. 

_Have some faith, Book._

The faint echo of Andy’s words and the brush of her lips against the shell of his ear etching into his memory, the smell of her jasmine and vanilla perfume with that underlying scent of clove that was so distinctly _Andy_ haunting him; the gentle pull of her lethe fingers through his hair a reminder of what he would lose at the end of his penance. Another life lost to his foolish idiocy. His wife would have been ashamed of him for allowing his grief to cloud his judgement. His sons would have been pissed at his dealings, deem him callous and a bastard for using their memory as a means to his own end. 

He knew he needed to claw his way up from the hole he’d allowed himself to sink so despondently into. 

And he would. 

He would try, for Nile’s sake - who had wanted to let him off with an _apology_ of all things. He would learn to accept himself and his wrongdoings for the peace of mind of Joe and Nicky - whose saddened gazes would haunt him until his last dying breath. And he would do his best to live for Andy. Live the life he’d somehow stolen from the one person in this entire fucked up world who seemed to understand what it was like to feel the waves of grief crash over you everyday, to know what it felt like to be underwater but still precariously on top of it, to be able to breathe but know that you were suffocating every. damn. day. 

Booker sniffed, rubbed at his cold nose, and nodded, seeming to come to some sort of internal understanding with himself. 

He left the chilly waters and made his way inward to the bustle of the city, mind wandering just as aimlessly as his feet. He wasn’t sure when he’d set foot onto a train headed out of the city but the next time he became aware of his surroundings he realized that evening had begun to overtake the clouded skies above, the deep red-orange rays of the descending sun saturating the interior of the train car; and, by the time the sun had gave way to the faint indigo of early night, he found himself standing outside the one person’s home he’d never thought he’d be back to again. 

He brought his hand up, ignoring the imagined ruddy shadows that splayed across his knuckles, and rasped against the door. 

Seconds ticked by before a light flicked on, the artificial light burning against Booker’s dry eyes and causing him to raise a hand to block the intrusive brightness. 

The door opened to reveal the surprised face of one James Copley. 

“Booker?” 

The questionable lilt of his name for some stupid god-forsaken reason was all it took for him to finally break. “I don’t…” _Why the hell had even come here?_ “I had no idea where else to go.” 

“O-of course. Please, come in.” Copley said and herded the older man into his home, his gaze looking hesitantly out into the darkened woods surrounding his house before retreating inside and closing the door behind him. 

Booker stood in the entryway of Copley’s home, eyes trailing the banister of the staircase that led upstairs, flinching at the faint tightlipped gaze of Andy peering down at him when his sight reached the top step. He ran a hand through his hair and blinked heavily to banish the phantom. His stomach cramping from nausea, his head light and legs heavy as he swayed just a little from a sudden sickness that had his stomach roiling. 

“Drink?” Copley asked, hand lightly settling on his shoulder and startling him. 

Booker let his hands fall with a sigh, “God, yes.” 

With a nod, Copley led him into the living area, reaching behind the bar and grabbing a bottle of whiskey and a couple of glasses while Booker made to sit on the couch with a heavy breath. 

“I would ask but I have a feeling I know.” 

Booker looked up at the statement to see a glass of amber liquid dangling like a life line in front of him, to which he grabbed and downed in one go. The burn numbing in its descent and sloshing on impact on his empty stomach. “You have no idea.” 

“Perhaps.” Copley replied, settling down beside Booker with a sigh and sipping at his own drink. “But, I know what it’s like to be at that low point, Booker. You weren’t the only one who made shit decisions these last few months.” 

“We were stupid to think that our idea was anything other than a fool's errand.” Booker filled his glass up once more and downed another shot of Whiskey. “God, looking back on it now, how the hell did I ever rationalize it?” 

Copley winced and drank the rest of his whiskey before pouring another two fingers and knocking it back and roughly clearing his throat. “Grief makes a wise man mad. We believed that we could change the world.” 

“Fucking idoits, the both of us.” Booker whispered with a shake of the head. “I just wanted to help her- _us_ , for there to be a way to make this feeling go away. I just wanted there to be a way for the world to stop for a second, someway t-to be able to breathe...to think without this-this _thing_ hanging over me. Judging me for not doing _more_ while everyone I ever cared about fell to the goddamned sands of time.“ 

He scrubbed his free hand over his face and through his hair, fingers tugging at the strands. “I keep thinking, _how could God have chosen me over my kids...over my wife?_ How could some higher being look at all my fuck-ups and see me worthy of this...this… _whatever the hell this is._ ” 

Copley cleared his throat against the burn of another shot of whiskey, the rush of alcohol loosening his lips and making his head feel light. “I was so angry when Evie was first diagnosed. I asked myself everyday why God sought to punish my wife instead of me… I had taken lives, destroyed families, caused havoc and destruction and yet I continued on whole and untouched by disease while I watched the light of my life waste away. Even as I stood by while she took her last breath, I still pleaded _why not me?_ What did I do wrong? Why was I allowed to live and not her?” 

“Yeah.” Booker agreed quietly, clearing his throat. “You beat yourself up about it. Wondering why you’re still here. What makes you so _damned_ special to still be alive after the thick of it all.” Booker set his glass down on the coffee table and rested his forearms on his knees, eyes unseeing as he whispered, “It was supposed to be a gift.” 

The strained explanation had Copley reaching for the liquor bottle and pouring both of them another round, he lifted his glass, “To those more deserving.” 

Booker grabbed his glass and clinked it against Copley’s before swallowing the amber liquid. A groan escaping him as the alcohol started to work it’s magic, the world dulling to a pleasant haziness around him. He reached for the bottle intent on another shot when Copley pulled it up and out of his reach. 

“I think we’ve drowned our sorrows enough for one evening, don’t you?” 

Booker made a swipe for the bottle and ended up landing roughly on Copley’s chest when he missed, his hands reaching high above towards the dangling bottle, nose level with Copley’s mouth. Booker licked his lips and gently tilted his head, alcohol making his thoughts fuzzy, inhibitions out the window as he leaned forward to bite at Copley’s bottom lip, the smoky peaty flavor of the whiskey that lingered on the other man’s lips causing Booker to suck slightly before pulling back, breathless and lids heavy. 

“I do believe we’re somewhat drunk, Booker.” Copley said, voice raspy and making something _flutter_ low in Booker’s belly, warmth spreading through him from something other than the alcohol in his system. 

“ _Mmmm...parfait_.” Booker whispered, the woody scent of oak from the whiskey heavy on his breath and saturating the air between them as he moved forward, head tilting just so to capture Copley’s lips once more as he leaned forward to close the distance between them. 

Booker grinned when Copley groaned against his chapped lips, the man’s fingers working through his hair and pulling him closer to deepen the kiss. Booker dug a knee in between Copley’s legs to keep himself steady when the warmth in his belly spread further south sending his head into a tizzy and had the world dancing around him, his heartbeat pounding in his ears. Only when his lungs demanded air did Booker pull away, his chest heaving and words a breath of air as he nodded towards the stairs, “Bedroom?” 

“Yes.” Copley murmured, frantically pulling Booker up from the couch and shoving at the man’s jacket, the two of them knocking into the banister as Copley pulled the offending piece of clothing off and flung it over the railing. 

They continued clumsily up the stairs, their hands working to pull and tug clothing from each other - Copley’s dress shirt sailing over the banister to the living room below, Bookers t-shirt slipping free to the wooden steps under them where it was then trampled in their haste up the stairs, their shoe’s kicked off precariously and leaving them clad in only their socks and pants. 

Booker grunted when he miscalculated the height of the last step, too distracted in his endeavor to remove the belt securing Copley’s slacks that he ended up falling with a hiss of pain to the floor below; his head bouncing achingly off the wood and air rushing from his lungs when Copley landed roughly on top of him. 

Copley smiled above him and nipped at the tip of his nose, “Floor works just as well.” 

Booker rolled his eyes and ran his hands up the expanse of Copley’s back, fingers dancing across skin and following the natural curve of Copley’s body before coming to rest gently under his jaw, thumb stroking the slight frown lines beside Copley’s mouth. Booker spoke no words, just leaned up at the same time he pulled Copley towards him and kissed him deeply once more, his tongue running across the smooth skin of Copley’s lips, asking permission. 

He hummed when he felt Copley part his lips allowing their eager tongues a chance to dance around one another, the slight burn of leftover alcohol stinging his taste buds as he ran the tip of his tongue over the expanse of Copley’s mouth, enjoying the tickling sensation from Copley’s tongue following after. 

Copley shifted on top of him, knee knocking against his cock and sending a jolt of pleasure through him. Booker moaned and moved his hands, leaving Copley’s jaw behind in favor of working to unbutton the man’s pants and push the khaki fabric down enough that he could slip his hand past the elastic band of Copley’s boxer briefs and cup the man’s cock allowing the lust filled moan from Copley to interrupt their drunken kiss. 

Booker pulled back with a grin as he slid his hand down Copley’s length, teasing as he repeated the action - up and down, fingers dancing and lightly tapping - pleased with himself at the little whimpers and moans the action elicited. 

With one quick maneuver Booker switched their positions and had Copley on the floor beneath him, his thighs stradling Copley while his hands roamed over the man’s bare chest. The pad of his thumb coming to brush over a small slightly puckered line of skin just below the clavicle, fingertips circling the faint line of brighter skin; the silent questions of _how_ and _where_ wrinkling his forehead. 

“Beirut, 2008. Bullet ricocheted. Broke my collarbone.” 

Booker hummed at the explanation and bent down to gently kiss the scar, tongue lightly brushing over the raised skin before he continued his downward path, gooseflesh rising in response to the heat of his breath across Copley’s skin as he nipped and kissed his way down, stopping for just a moment to dip his tongue into Copley’s belly button, sucking the tiny amount of air from the small recess and causing a faint popping sound when he leaned back just enough to see Copley’s deep velvety brown eyes that reminded him of the earth just after a heavy rainstorm gazing down at him in drunken passion. 

“Ever been with a man before?” Booker asked, voice husky and rough around the edges; fingers wrapping around the waistband of both Copley’s slacks and boxer briefs before pulling them down to free the man’s hard cock in one quick motion. 

“ _Mmm_ , college. I had a boyfriend before I met my wife.” Copley swallowed thickly, half-lidded eyes staring down at Booker, “You?” 

“A few times over the years.” Booker replied, shimming down Copley’s legs until he was resting against the man’s knees, warm hands cupping around Copley’s hip, his nails digging into the fleshy area above the man’s rear. 

Booker watched the pink of Copley’s tongue peak out and run enticingly over the dark of his lips, leaving Booker wanting to do nothing more than suckle at the man’s lower lip, instead he asked, “Want me to show you what I’ve learned in the span of 200 years?” He asked, leaning down to blow a warming breath over the head of Copley’s cock, smiling at the soft gasp he received in response. 

“God, yes.” 

Booker kissed the head of Copley’s cock before moving to the underside with the tip of his tongue and then proceeded to gently flick the raised skin found there moving his tongue in short movements before slowly covering the head of Copley’s cock with his lips before backing off, repeating this movement a couple of times teasingly before finally pulling Copley’s length into his mouth and sucking, swirling his tongue across the head of man’s cock simultaneously; humming at the excited twitch he felt underneath his ministrations. 

“ _Jesus_. Keep doin _nnng_ that.” 

Booker glanced up to see Copley pawing at the tiled floor, chest heaving and a light sheen of sweat settling beautifully over the man’s skin. He was truly a sight to behold. It was amazing how the both of them, so lost to the world around them, had found each other. How they both had sought solace in their sordid actions, thought themselves noble in their misguided pursuit to better the world. How they had thought that their perceived transgressions against their loved ones had made them unfit to ever feel anything other than the sorrow of a bereft soul left to rot in this seemingly endless purgatory. And now - Booker swallowed against the tightness in his chest, eliciting a keening moan from Copley at the action - here the two of them were, drowning their sorrows in alcohol and human need. 

And it was so easy, he realized, to slip into this headspace. To let his body move through the motions of pleasuring another individual while his mind drifted in a state of calm. So it came as a surprise when he felt fingers tugging at his hair and pulling him back into awareness, he couldn't help the keening whine that bubbled forth. Couldn’t help gasping as he nearly choked from one particularly harsh tug that had his throat spasming around the cock filling his mouth. 

“ _Fuck_ , Booker. Your mouth feels a-amazing.” Copley groaned, hips quivering beneath his touch. Booker’s mouth was starting to run dry when he felt Copley’s cock twitch excitedly and he knew it wouldn’t be long before Copley’s seed would flood his mouth and force him to swallow or choke and the mental image had his mouth watering in anticipation. His hands reached for the base of Copley’s shaft before he even realized he’d moved, fingers curling around the man’s cock and rubbing up and down while his tongue continued to tease and swirl around the head of Copley’s cock, greedily sucking at the thickness. 

Booker smiled, eyes shining when he heard a very animalistic rumble resound deep from Copley’s chest, the man trying and failing to form words other than praising God and the heavens above. 

“Go-goi _nnnng_ to- _Jesus_!” 

Booker barely had time to brace himself before a slightly salty warmth rushed into his mouth forcing him to swallow while above Copley’s cries of pleasure echoed through the barren halls before dying down to the sounds of the man’s harsh breaths and frantic moans of post blow job bliss. 

“Good?” Booker whispered, placing a chaste kiss to the inside of Copley’s thigh, nuzzling the area between hip and groin before slowly crawling up to pillow his head on Copley’s shoulder, fingers toying with the scar he’d focused his attention on earlier. 

“I do believe I saw stars.” 

Booker snorted, stretching his legs out alongside Copley to work the achiness from his stiff joints. “I highly doubt that but I’ll take the compliment.” 

“ _Mmmm_.” Copley replied and Booker was surprised to feel the man shift and curl an arm around his back to rest lightly against his bicep, his stomach flip-flopping from the delicateness of the action, not used to cuddling. “I don’t think I can move.” 

“S’fine, floor works for me.” Booker said and yawned, nestling into the warmth that Copley radiated, the haze of his alcohol buzz fading and exhaustion taking its place. 

He hummed quietly when he felt Copley’s thumb rubbing gentle strokes up and down his arm, the repetitive motion lulling him into a sense of calm and allowing his body to relax and settle. With one more yawn he was falling fast into the welcoming embrace of sleep. 

O~oO~o~Oo~O 

Booker groaned, throwing an arm over his eyes as he rolled over; the bright morning sun an annoyance he wasn’t ready to deal with warm against the back of his eyelids. He sniffled and rubbed his eyes against the crook of his arm. He was not ready to handle anything more than another hour of sleep. 

“Good morning.” 

“ _Uggh._ ” Booker groaned moving his arm to see the more than chipper figure of Copley standing above him clad in a pair of sweatpants, shirt hanging loosely from his chest and a steaming mug of coffee in each hand. “Should’ve known you were a morning person.” 

Copley laughed as he scooted to sit up crossed legged on the floor and internally kind of hating the bright twinkle he could see shining mischievously in the other man’s eyes. Booker scrubbed at his face while Copley moved to sit beside him on the floor, hand outstretched to offer him the second coffee mug. “Morning is an important time of day, do you know why?” 

Booker raised an eyebrow, blowing on the steaming liquid to cool it. “No, but I have a feeling you’re going to tell me.” 

“Because how you spend your morning can often tell you what kind of day you are going to have.” 

“It’s way too early for philosophical speeches,” Booker stated, taking a greedy sip of coffee and relishing in the pleasantly smooth taste of dark roasted araciba beans before adding, “but that would explain why most of my days are shit though.” 

“Mmm.” Copley sipped at his coffee, “So about last night.” 

“And it is _definitely_ too early to be having _that_ conversation.” Booker explained with a sigh followed by the heavy thunk of his mug when he set it on the floor. 

“I was just going to say that I know what it's like to need the comfort of another person in a time of uncertainty.” 

Booker side eyed the man but when he saw the leveled gaze of Copley not putting up with his bullshit, he sighed, “Listen… I… _fuck_. I had just been told to basically shove off and you were the only other person that knew about us and all the crap that had happened and… I don’t know… I just needed someone that would understand, I guess.” 

“Of course. Last night was just the culmination of stress and alcohol, two things which don’t allow for good decision making.” 

Was it bad of him to kind of hate Copley at the moment for being so understanding? “Well, okay then.” 

Booker watched as Copley smiled and slowly sipped his coffee, the tiny little slurping sounds making him purse his lips, he opened his mouth to make a snide comment when he was interrupted by the sound of the door downstairs slamming open and a woman’s voice demanding Copley to _’Get your ass down here!’_

“It would seem your family has arrived.” Copley commented dryly, mourning the broken lock and shattered frame of his front door. 

“Putain de merde!” Booker cursed and shoved himself up, eyes frantically scanning the upper floor, “They can’t know I’m here.” 

“What?” 

He turned to Copley, eyes wild with panic when he heard footsteps below start in their direction, Andy and Joe’s voices echoing up the stairs. He ran a nervous hand through his hair and explained, “I’ve been disowned for the next hundred years, they can’t find me here.” 

“A hundred…” Copley shook his head and stood, confused. “Booker...what?” 

“Hiding place first!” He demanded pulling on Copley’s arm. His family had asked one thing of him in the fallout out of his colossal screw-up and he’d be damned if he didn’t honor it. Booker pulled Copley by the arm back further from the edge of the stairs when he heard the telltale thumps of someone walking up them, only coming to a stop when his back hit something firm. 

Copley scrunched his forehead in confusion, looking over his shoulder for just a second before he turned back to Booker and reached off to the side, opening a door. His next words were a failed breath in lungs as Copley shoved him into the storage closet and slammed the door on him. 

Booker stood awkwardly, feet shifting and heart pounding when he heard Andy’s muffled voice demand Copley’s attention on a certain matter of mutual interest. He knew that steely voiced rhetoric, whatever his family was doing here it wasn’t to ask, it was to demand and he hoped Copley was smart enough to agree to whatever Andy asked of him. 

He waited until he heard the footfalls and voices fade to an indiscernible murmur before he slowly cracked the door open, eyes scanning the limited line of sight from behind the safety of the door to make sure the coast was clear before he slipped free from his hiding spot. 

As quietly as possible and snuck his way down the stairs, grabbing his jacket from the banister on his way out.

**Author's Note:**

> French used:  
> Parfait - Perfect  
> Putain de Merde - Fucking shit
> 
> As always thank you all for taking the time to read my ramblings and please feel free to leave a comment or a kudo! It's always much appreciated! :)


End file.
